Eugene

The weight of the workday and grueling part-time jobs had frozen in my spine like a dull numbness. My legs had completely lost their support, turning to cotton wool.
A sticky mist of odors permeated the cabin. Outside the window, the silhouettes of trees drifted slowly past in the thick twilight. This rhythm was enough to catch the frozen faces of random passersby through the haze of exhausted eyes.
The minibus was suffocating from the cramped space. Other people's briefcases mercilessly flew into your face, and heavy soles pressed into your feet. An indifferent silence reigned all around, broken only by the intrusive hum of phone conversations. These meaningless phrases, flying from all directions, finally burned away the last of your patience, turning fatigue into pure hatred for all living things.
Suddenly, you felt a guy press against you from behind—perhaps due to a lack of space. You remained standing still, looking out the window and holding onto the handrail.
It wasn't long before you felt a head rest softly, almost trustingly, on your shoulder. The weight was noticeable, but not oppressive. You froze, feeling every touch on your skin and the rhythmic rush of their breath against your neck—scalding hot against the cold windowpane.